


Creep

by INMH



Series: Merry Month of Masturbation Fills (2018) [11]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Angst, Drama, Drugs, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, Implied Relationships, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Sexual Content, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-02 23:03:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14555463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: Faith haunts Tracey.





	Creep

Bliss was a bitch to wash out of clothing.  
  
Deputy Rook had spent her time breaking up Faith’s outposts in the region, and with every area reclaimed they found themselves flooded with people who’d been inadvertently fucked up by the Bliss; there had been so many adrenaline shots, Tracey had both administered them and held others down while someone else did it, and the dangerously alluring scent of the Bliss that clung to their clothing was faint on her skin afterwards.  
  
_It’s not enough,_ she reassured herself as she washed her hands for the thousandth time that day. _It’s not enough to addict you. You’re fine. You’re **fine.**_ She scrubbed, but she couldn’t completely get the smell off.  
  
Tracey had to treat a gunshot wound not long after, and she deliberately put some of the rubbing alcohol on her hands to dampen the smell.  
  
That night she was on patrol on the walls of the prison, eyes scanning the darkness for any Peggies crawling through the underbrush attempting an ambush. However attentive one _tries_ to be, it was natural to fall into a state of calm and complacency when there was no immediate action to get your blood up, and Tracey found herself sinking into this state on the wall, the shadows between the trees blurring together in the dark. The moon was partially covered by the clouds, and it was near impossible to see anything clearly; at least that meant the Peggies would have as much trouble creeping up as the Cougars would have catching them.  
  
Tracey’s eyes drooped shut, exhaustion from a long day clawing at her mind. She let them stay shut for a moment, indulging.  
  
“ _Amazing grace…_ ”  
  
She frowned. Look, Tracey tried to respect peoples’ religion and all that, but it seemed a bit _shitty_ to be singing a song that the cult had been known to belt out whenever it suited them to. Couldn’t they pick something else?  
  
“ _...how sweet, the sound…_ ”  
  
Tracey’s eyes opened. The voice was vaguely familiar, female, and she turned back towards the prison, trying to locate the singer.  
  
“ _…that saved, a wretch, like me…_ ”

Dread, cold and icy, seeped into Tracey’s veins. That voice was becoming louder, and as it did, it also became a lot more familiar to her- and if she was recognizing it right, then they had a much bigger problem than some Peggie grunts skulking around in the darkness. She picked up her rifle and aimed it blindly in the darkness, searching, searching, but the voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. No matter how much she turned her head and focused, Tracey could not tell where the voice was coming from.  
  
“ _…I once, was lost, and now, I’m found…_ ”  
  
Should she call for help? Get everyone up?  
  
“… _Was blind, but now…_ ”  
  
“Whitehorse,” Tracey called hoarsely. “Virgil!”  
  
“… _I **see.**_ ”  
  
Suddenly, she was there.  
  
Faith seemed to glow in the dark, green mist and white petals swirling around her. She was dozens of yards away from the wall, but Tracey could tell that she was looking right at her, could see those hazel eyes as if they were right in front of her. One didn’t easily forget the face, forget the _eyes_ of someone they’d been so close to for so long- especially when that person was someone like Faith, like _Rachel._  
  
“ _Tracey._ ”  
  
“ _Whitehorse_ _!_ ” Tracey screamed, not taking her eyes off of Faith. “ _Virgil! Get the fuck up here **NOW!**_ ”  
  
And then Faith was gone.  
  
Naturally, it was only once she’d disappeared and Tracey had lowered her weapon that Whitehorse and Virgil came running up onto the wall, the Sheriff with his gun drawn. “What, what is it?” He asked sharply, looking out at the darkness.  
  
“Are you alright?” Was Virgil’s first question.  
  
No, no, she was not al-fucking- _right._  
  
“She-” Tracey shuddered, stumbled over her words. “She- She was-” She pointed out at the darkness.  
  
“I don’t see anything,” Whitehorse said, slowly lowering his gun even as he still scanned the ground beyond the wall.  
  
Of course not. Faith wasn’t like the Seeds, wasn’t a soldier or a fighter; Tracey was reasonably certain she’d never even shot a gun. It wasn’t her _thing._ She wasn’t stupid enough to waltz out into the open, especially near the heavily-guarded prison full of people who hated her guts. She’d be blown to pieces without a moment’s hesitation and she knew it.  
  
“Never mind.”  
  
“Tracey-”  
  
“Never-fucking-mind!” Tracey barked, and left the wall so rapidly that she nearly fell down the stairs. Wouldn’t that just figure: Survive the Cult, survive the Bliss, survive _Faith,_ but fall and break her neck on the stairs.  
  
Faith would get a kick out of that.  
   
[---]  
   
“You look good, Tracey.”  
  
She should have changed her clothes.  
  
“I’ve missed you so much.”  
  
She should have scrubbed her hands until the skin came off.  
  
“Why won’t you come to me?”  
  
The Bliss was in her now, and that meant that Faith had her.  
  
“You’re the one I really want.”  
  
Tracey folded her pillow around her head as best she could, squeezed her eyes shut so that she wouldn’t see the specter of a girl she’d once known pacing up and down before her cot. The Bliss would pass eventually, work its way out of her system, and then Faith would disappear. She just had to outlast her, and Tracey prided herself on her stubbornness; if Faith thought she could wear her down, she was in for one hell of a fucking surprise.  
  
“Deputy Rook is so violent,” Faith whispered, far too close for Tracey’s liking, “But she’s so pretty, and when I took her into the Bliss to see the Father, she just looked so happy to be with him _._ To be with _us._ ” She smiled, and only because Tracey had known her for so long did she recognize the cold edge in it. “Maybe I’ll lay her down and the grass and _love_ her until she accepts the Father’s word.”  
  
Tracey moved quickly, lunged at her, meant to slap Faith across her manipulative-bitch face; but her hand only found air, and Faith’s musical, mocking laughter was all that was left in the room.  
  
Faith wanted nothing more than to be viewed as some sweet little victim, a precious child abused and manipulated and never at peace with her life. But when she was selling her sob-story to anyone who would listen, she neglected to mention that some of those things hadn’t _quite_ happened the way she claimed- or that she’d enacted her fair share of manipulation and abuse on those she’d encountered, even before Joseph Seed had become a driving force in her life. Maybe Faith had once been a victim, but she’d been more than happy to adopt the role of the victimizer the moment she was granted an ounce of power over anyone or anything.  
  
That’s why things had ended the way they did between her and Tracey.  
  
She’d always had her moments of sweetness, of kindness, and it would be a lie to suggest that the sexual aspects of their relationship hadn’t been a major factor in why it had lasted as long as it had. Tracey didn’t need to think about Faith’s power-plays over their classmates when they were fucking; she didn’t have to think about Faith’s flirting with one of their male teachers either. And then she would come back to Tracey with sweet kisses and giggles and doe-eyed innocence because ‘Tracey, what are you talking about? I was just asking him about my math test, nothing more. Tracey, she was spreading awful rumors about me, I was just leveling the playing field.’  
  
Tracey missed her.  
  
And she hated herself for it.  
  
She slid her hand into her jeans, an impulsive decision that tended to come whenever she was confronted with Faith. But instead of thinking of Faith, instead of thinking of the curve of her breasts or the lacey red underwear she used to wear whenever she went out with Tracey, Tracey thought of the pretty Deputy that Faith had taunted her with, Deputy Rook. Really, she hadn’t given her much thought before today; she was nice enough, and certainly attractive, but given everything that had been going on, she hadn’t exactly been on Tracey’s radar.  
  
But now Tracey pictured Rook naked, imagined groping her breasts and putting her mouth between her legs, because _fuck you, Faith, fuck you, if you want to poke around in my head then you can come and get a big fucking eyeful of this, you vengeful fucking **bitch.**_ Tracey rubbed herself with vigor until she bucked against the cot and opened her mouth in a silent cry; the idea of Faith’s rage, of her jealousy of the Deputy, was better than a high-grade vibrator.  
  
_That’s kind of fucked up,_ Tracey thought weakly. But then, Faith kind of defined ‘fucked up’ in just about everything she did, so Tracey liked to think she could be forgiven some vindictiveness.  
  
(Okay, a _lot_ of vindictiveness.)  
  
But as far as she was concerned, that vindictiveness was the only thing standing between her and Faith, and down that road laid drug-soaked madness.  
  
_Not happening._  
****_  
_ _**Never** happening._  
   
-End


End file.
